And KickInThePunt is off to a fantastic start of our
third season and the bright
pink team. We hear there was an attempt from others to maybe take on our
color so we are relieved that even with the waiting to put together a new team
with half newbies we didn’t lose OUR color.

Speaking of newbies, we love them! They arrived with
some serious motivation and proved their worth with some awesome kicks and
catches all while trying to figure out the silly game we play on Thursday
nights for some odd reason. They also brought along a few cheerleaders in human
and canine form. Sons of Pitches may think they had the first place for the
number of dogs on the sidelines but we are after that spot now! So much so that
the pups became the inspiration for the first team photo at the bar.

Expect great things from us this season y’all, cuz
here come the punts!

Looks
like there has been an epic merger between the Alcaballics and
Purplesaurus. Tutus and tequila shots, people! It's gonna get weird.
Actually shit already got weird on week ONE. We are coming for you
Hardons. Life of the Party is not safe any more.

I have been informed that Denver, the PurpleSaurus mascot and physical emblem of my legacy with TX Live, was purloined in bad faith from his rightful caretakers as they executed their duties of providing for the emotional well being of the league at The Park this past Thursday by hosting bar games. This is unacceptable. This is the work of children who value nothing but themselves and the fulfillment of their own ill-conceived dreams of lasting glory, and instead cover themselves with the stink of shame. I have these words for them. They have created this fraudulent Facebook Account to chronicle their reprehensible deeds.

Dear Malicious Captors,

I know you're holding Denver against his will. You thought you were real clever posting June 11, 1993 as his birthday didn't you? All you've done is given yourself away. Denver has nothing to do with Jurassic Park. Those toys were total shit. Ooooooo "battle damaged" T-Rex? FUCK YOU KENNER-HASBRO.

Denver comes from an age when men were men and toys were toys: made out of rock hard plastic. When dinosaurs weren't just dinosaurs, they were dinosaurs with frickin laser beams attached to their frickin heads. When Valorians regularly triumphed over Rulons. When Questar could always be counted on to outwit the sinister Emperor Krulos.

Of course, his namesake hails back to an even simpler time (about three weeks before his birth), when a young group of California youths could pal around with their rock star dinosaur buddy and travel back through time with the assistance of a fragment of eggshell. As was the style of the time.

The 80s. When shit was real. When Tyco made the greatest goddamn toys ever created, strong enough to endure 25 years unharmed and take on a sweet coat of purple paint and spray-on glitter and find new relevance in this god forsaken world where a group of right-minded pioneers of badassery could appreciate his form, function, and history, passing him to one another as a talisman of awesomeness in reward for herculean accomplishments in the field of fun.

All that, only to be abducted by some halfwitted chuckling Gomers who don't deserve to share a fucking room with him, let alone hold his sacred form. You think yourself champions? BOO. You treat him like garbage, because thats what you are: the Champions of Refuse. So here's to you, you pieces of shit. Here's to the Champions of Slime, the Champions of Filth, the Champions of Putrescence. Boo. Boo. Rubbish. Filth. Slime. Muck. Boo. Boo.

I expect Denver returned to his rightful caretakers this Thursday, or left on my porch if you're too cowardly to face those who you've disrespected in the open.

Saturday, July 11, 2015

The results are in folks! After NINE weeks of partying (Y'all got some extra party nights in thanks to rainouts. How's that for a deal?), thousands of pictures, epic bar game performances, incredible costumes, and another season of kickball awesomeness, we have the final scores available.

First, I must point out with a heavy heart that we have a few party poopers among us. There are four teams that scored nary a social point this season. Not one GMOT entry. Not one bar games attempt. Not a single picture posted for nearly three months of kickball. These are their names:

Sit On My Base

Seaholmies

Do You Even Kick, Bro?

ANUSTART

SHAME!

Now on to the winners! In the final week of the season, PurpleSaurus couldn't be stopped and was propelled to the weekly victory on the strength of the entire leagues need to click the like button on pictures of my speedo clad American-ness, but one big week was not enough to catch the leaders.

Kickin' the Punt, the reigning champs of the Party Belt, put up awesome numbers all season long and made DAMN sure I knew it when I miscounted something. While they only won the belt outright two weeks of the season, they were ALWAYS among the top two or three in scoring and made a late push that took the championship to the brink! They basically invented themes all season long, and have made a case for several new types of bonus points with their shenanigans.

In the end, it wasn't enough to overcome the newcomer and party juggernaut of the season: LARGE HARDON COLLIDER. From the outset, this team was destined to be great. Sometimes the child outgrows the parent, and such was the case with this party seed that floated from the PurpleSaurus tree, found fertile loam in which to spread it's roots, and because possibly the most perfect embodiment of a WAKA party team that TX Live has ever known. Themes every week, inflatable dicks everywhere, lots of skin, lots of booze, and a flood of awesome pictures every week to make sure you knew exactly how much fun you were missing out on by not being on this team. Not to mention their preternatural bar game skills that netted them big points every week and quality GMOT writing. With a grand total of 1,988 Party Points, the new TX Live Party Champions are Large Hardon Collider!

View all the final standings here, with notes for how all the points were scored! (At least for week 3 and after when I started doing that).

Thursday, July 2, 2015

Are we STILL writing GMOTs? The rain giveth and the rain taketh away, and just when I thought we had this shit wrapped up, here I am trying to figure out what we’re going to do to one-up those damn Punts again. Let it be known that in the normal 8 week season we are the true winners of the Belt. I feel this is like one of those weird baseball homerun record controversies where if I knew anything about sports I could give some actual examples. Babe Ruth something something Mark McGwire something something Sammy Sosa? Does anybody even care about this? Anyways, I digress.

This weekend is fucking ‘Murica week and I’m super fucking excited. This is probably my favorite holiday because 1) I don’t have to give anybody a present 2) we live in the greatest fucking country in the fucking world. This paragraph is extra fucking ‘Murican based on how many times I can work “fuck” in there. How much more ‘Murican can this blog post get?

BOOM!

Yeah, that just happened. That is yours truly acting like a jackass in the most ‘Murican way possible: in uniform. How drunk am I? I don’t know! How much water does it take to fill up Lake Travis? How exactly does a posi-trac rear end on a Plymouth work? Nobody knows. Need some more?

BOOM!

Yeah, that’s right. Because sometimes ‘Murica comes in the form of swimming through a mud-filled underwater tunnel with a bunch of gear on. One more for the road?

BOOM!

See, I took ya for a turn there. Even my badass cat, Magnus, likes to get dressed up for 4th of July just to show those fucking Redcoats who’s boss. When I see that sweet ass bowtie all I can think is fuck your taxation without representation and fuck your tea! Does he hate it? Fuck yeah he does, but this is ‘Murica and we do what we gotta do to show the world what a great time we’re having despite all their bullshit.

So enjoy your weekend, fellow kickballers, and celebrate the amazing country we are lucky enough to live in! I’m gonna be fucking ‘Murica’ing the shit out of mine via shooting guns and listening to Bruce Springsteen. Probably at the same time! FREEDOM.

Tonight is the rescheduled Tight & Bright theme night, and while I did spend some money on neon leggings and fishnet gloves and sweatbands and other stuff for neon night, there's something more important happening. A little something called the birth of our nation. EVER HEARD OF IT!?

This week, PurpleSaurus goes America all over everybody's ass.

Whitney Houston will be signing the Star Spangled Banner to kick the game off, and then the new and improved AMERICA MIX will blast us through a night of celebrating the best goddamn nation on Earth, along with the most patriotic outfits known to man. USA chants are inevitable. Oh and apparently we're good at soccer too, so we stole that from

Big shout out to Pitches be Trippin, our opponents tonight. Apparently they're bored with beating the bejesus out of everyone and want to play with fun rules, so we're going #nobunting and #backwardsbases tonight. I can't wait to see Rob totally forget about that rule and run the wrong way every time he kicks, it never gets old!

We're holdin down the late game tonight, which means bar games gets a late start too as it's gotta wait until I get there. Look for washers around 10 at The Park!

Guys. We played Sit On My Base last week and we’re just so concerned for their pitcher. I don’t know his actual name so I’m gonna just call him Slim Jim McGrouchy Grumps for now. If you guys could make sure this gets to him, I’d really appreciate that.

Dear Slim Jim McGrouchy Grumps,

Are you okay? It’s just kickball. And I come from Relax so this should be a real red flag. What happened to you? Don’t do this, McGrouchy Grumps. Don’t do this to your league. Don’t do this to your teammates. They love and respect you. You’ve got a lot to be proud of. You’ve got a nice physique and not a spare pound on that Slim Jim body of yours. And I’m willing to bet you have at least one or two other positive attributes.

Just take that intensity/grouchy-grumpiness and turn the dial down a notch or two. That’s all we’re saying. A notch or two is all you need to change yourself, to change the league, to change the world.

Don’t cry. Don’t be sad. You are young and beautiful. You’ll bounce back from this, I know it. And if you need someone to talk to, I can be there. That’s something I can do for you. Shhhh. Mama knows.

I wish I could capture in words for all of you what board game night looks like when you're a Purplesaurus.

Mostly it looks like this. But, ya know, more... purpley.

There are many different sorts of game nights in the world. Poker. Backgammon. Shooting flares at bottles. Normal stuff. Last week, game night consisted of poorly drawn cuddling and very well drawn asteroids. A little too well drawn. We have a thing about asteroids.

You kind of had to be there.

(When stick figures cuddle it looks like they're doing a whole lot more than cuddling. Maybe you didn't have to be there.)

There was also a great game of... something that seemed like a cross between charades and taboo that somehow involved the Jeffersons. It got a little weird.